The next morning came too quickly. Saphirra had hardly slept, her mind still haunted by the fight and the sight of Travier's blood. But when he stirred beside her and offered that faint, reassuring smile, she forced herself to push it aside. Work was waiting.
_____________________________
Backstage, the hum of stylists, assistants, and designers filled the air. Saphirra focused on her job, adjusting the fabric of Travier's new outfit, careful not to press too hard near his injured side. He stood still, letting her work, though she could feel his eyes on her every so often—watching, silently grateful.
That was when Ms. Travez stormed in. The sharp click of her heels echoed across the floor, her expression like thunder.
"Travier." Her voice cut through the chatter, and everyone quieted a little. Her eyes zeroed in on the bandage peeking just slightly from beneath the shirt as he moved. "What is that?"
Travier stiffened, but before he could answer, she had already marched over. "Don't tell me you're injured. Do you have any idea how irresponsible this is? You're a model, your body is your career!"
Saphirra instinctively stepped in, adjusting the shirt quickly to cover the patch. "It's under control. He's fine, I—"
But Ms. Travez's eyes snapped to her, sharp and merciless. "You? Don't tell me this was your doing."
Saphirra froze, taken aback. "I... I didn't—"
"Saphirra didn't do anything; she's in danger, and as her husband, I need to protect her," Travier said as he stood in front of Saphirra protectively.
Ms. Travez scoffed and glared at Travier. "I'm not talking to you, Travier." Ms. Travez said with a hint of annoyance in her tone, before she turned to look at Saphirra, who was holding Travier's arm.
"And 'You'...You're supposed to be his makeup artist, not his princess," Ms. Travez snapped, her voice low but cutting. "Whatever happens to you is one thing. But Travier—he cannot afford injuries. Do you understand? You should be making his job easier, not dragging him down with your recklessness."
Saphirra's face burned, her throat tightening with humiliation; she could feel everyone's eyes staring at her. Her fingers fidgeted against the hem of the fabric, but she stayed silent.
Travier stepped forward, his jaw tense. "That's enough."
Ms. Travez blinked at him. "Excuse me?"
"You don't talk to her like that," he said firmly, his voice louder now, drawing the attention of others nearby. "She didn't cause this, and she's the reason I'm standing here today at all. If you have a problem with me or especially with her, then take it up with me. But don't ever throw your anger on her."
The manager scoffed, clearly not used to being challenged. "I'm only reminding her of her place. Your career is on the line, Travier. She needs to understand—"
"My career is mine," Travier interrupted, his tone sharp as steel. "Not hers. Don't treat her like she's disposable. Because she isn't."
The silence that followed was heavy, the tension thick in the room. Ms. Travez's lips pressed into a thin line, her glare shifting between them, but she said nothing more. With a frustrated huff, she spun on her heel and left, her heels clicking away.
Saphirra's hands were still shaking as she adjusted the sleeve again, unable to meet his eyes.
Travier lowered his voice, leaning close so only she could hear. "Don't listen to her. You're not a burden, Saphirra. You're my strength. Always."
Her chest tightened, tears threatening again—but this time, she managed a small, wavering smile.
Despite the sting of Ms. Travez's words earlier, Saphirra kept her focus sharp. She dusted Travier's cheek, adjusted the collar of his shirt, and even helped tuck the fabric just right so the outfit fit perfectly for the camera. Now and then, Travier gave her a small glance—silent thanks in his eyes.
The photoshoot carried on, flashes of light filling the room as the photographer called out cues. Travier slipped easily into his poses, his injuries hidden under the layers of clothing, though Saphirra could still see the tension in his shoulders.
She was just stepping back to grab another brush when the door opened again. The distinct click of heels sent a ripple of unease down her spine. Ms. Travez returned, but this time, her expression wasn't furious—it was calculated.
She strode toward Travier as soon as the photographer called for a break. "Travier," she said crisply, holding a folder in her hands. "I just received a call from Director Yelric."
Travier raised an eyebrow, curious. "Director Yelric?"
"Yes, he's one of the famous directors," she explained, her tone shifting into something almost triumphant. "They're casting for the male lead, and he specifically asked if you would be interested in the role."
The chatter in the studio seemed to hush, people throwing curious glances their way. A male lead role wasn't a small offer—it was a career-changer.
Travier blinked, caught off guard. "A movie?"
"Yes," Ms. Travez said, her eyes gleaming. "A historical drama with a major studio. If you accept, it would be your acting debut. But considering your popularity and image, they believe you'd be perfect for it."
Saphirra, standing a few steps behind him, froze. Her brush was clutched tightly in her hand. A male lead role—this wasn't just another step. This was a leap that could change everything.
Travier's gaze flickered briefly to her, as if instinctively searching her face for an answer. Ms. Travez notices, which makes her roll her eyes in annoyance.
"Oh, please, don't tell me that Saphirra's the one who will decide," Ms. Travez suddenly said, which made Saphirra look down. "Look, as you said earlier. This is your own career, Travier, so don't let Saphirra bring you down because of her. " She continued before sighing heavily.
Ms. Travez flipped open the folder and slid a few glossy papers onto a nearby table. "It's a romance epic," she said smoothly, her eyes glinting this time. "The story of a fallen prince and the woman who saves him. There will be battles, tears… and of course, intimacy. The director wants authenticity." She smiled thinly. "That means kissing scenes." Ms. Travier said and glanced at Saphirra to see her reaction before smirking.
The words sank into the air like ice water.
Saphirra, who was still standing not too far away, noticed her smirk, which made her feel mad, yet she knew that she couldn't do anything, and she didn't want to take any risk that would put her husband's career in danger.
Saphirra just froze there, standing silently as she glanced at Travier, who was having split thoughts.
Travier glanced at her instinctively, worry flickering in his eyes. But Saphirra's face was turned into a calm one, too calm, as if she had willed every emotion out of her expression.
Ms. Travez, oblivious—or perhaps intentional—continued her pitch. "If you accept, Travier, this could put you on the map not just as a model, but as an actor. Male lead. Top billing. You'd be a household name."
Silence stretched.
Then, softly, Saphirra stepped forward. She adjusted the line of Travier's jacket one last time before looking up at him with a smile this time.
"Travier…" she began, her voice quiet enough that only he could hear. "This is your dream, isn't it? To go further. To achieve more."
He opened his mouth to answer, but she gave a small, fragile smile and shook her head.
"Whatever your decision is… It's fine. As long as it makes you happy. As long as it brings you closer to the life you want." Her throat tightened, but she forced the words out anyway. "I'll support you. Always."
For a moment, Travier just stared at her. Her smile was gentle, but behind her eyes was something else—something breaking.
And that was what made his chest ache more than anything else in the room.
Travier's hand trembled slightly as he held the pen. He glanced once at Saphirra, searching her face for any hint of hesitation, any silent plea for him to stop. But she only offered that same fragile smile—the one that looked so supportive, yet carried the weight of hidden pain.
He swallowed hard, then bent down and signed his name on the contract.
"Excellent," Ms. Travez said, her lips curling into a satisfied smirk as she gathered the papers. "The director will be thrilled. Travier, you're expected at the studio tomorrow morning. Alone."
Saphirra's brows furrowed. "Alone?"
"Yes," Ms. Travez answered curtly. "You'll stay here to assist the other models, Saphirra. Travier needs to focus without distractions. The director wants to meet him, not his… personal staff."
The words stung, the dismissal sharp, but Saphirra only lowered her gaze and nodded quietly.
Travier's jaw tightened. "She's not just—" he started, his voice hardening, but Ms. Travez waved him off, already turning on her heel.
"Tomorrow at ten. Don't be late."
The door clicked shut behind her, leaving silence in her wake.
Travier looked at Saphirra, guilt washing over him in heavy waves. She busied herself straightening the edge of a garment rack, pretending not to notice his eyes on her.
He stepped closer, lowering his voice. "Saphirra… I didn't want to say yes without—"
She cut him off gently, forcing another small smile. "It's alright, Travier. Really. This is what you've worked for. Don't worry about me."
But her hands gripped the fabric so tightly her knuckles turned white.
And for the first time since he'd signed, Travier felt no thrill of victory—only the sharp ache of a choice that seemed to pull them farther apart.